No Hatchet Was Involved


I see you found your dog belly up.
The Labrador is dead
because it's heart stopped beating.
The heart must beat for
blood to flow.
Let's pause to let it soak in.
Care to help bury Arty?
We've lost a great pet.
Best damn pet ever.
Nothing'll bring her back.
And that's okay.
It's our loss, together.
Easy come, easy go.
Let's have tacos.
You liked tacos. Do you still like tacos?
How do you like your tacos?
Because you don't have to have them
with fish all the time.
Fish is delicious, but there's room
to change your mind. Beef or pollo?
Pollo is Spanish for chicken.
Fish it is.
Thanks for the help, you know,
burying the dog, our dog.

a good elegy for the beloved
supani

Dear D, it has been a while since I've been on too. School has been taxing, papers to write, dead authors to read. This semester we screened submissions for our school's annual poetry/prose/fiction/art publication. I've been working on some other <i>projects</i>, one might say.

A writing instructor told me to stop writing poetry, that it's just not my bag. He's right. I've been doing short fiction, and (I suppose they can be called) essays or creative non-fiction. I put the essays on a blog.

This poem is the result of a personality test I took recently. It had a section on improving communication skills. Basically, I took that section and entered dialogue for the suggestions.

A.S.

Call it an exercise in form.